


And a Silver Sixpence in Her Shoe

by spidermanhomecomeme



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Marriage, Mild Language, Non-Explicit, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-10-11 08:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20543387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme
Summary: It's a long-standing tradition for brides to wear something old, new, borrowed, and blue on their wedding day.A four part series, each chapter exploring a different aspect of this tradition, leading up to the long-awaited Jones-Parker wedding.





	1. Something Old

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is a four-part series I came up with one day and thought it was too cute not to write! It's short and very sweet! Get ready for so much fluff, so much love, and so much Spideychelle. I have all the chapters drafted so updates shouldn't take forever! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Her nails are digging into her palm, one hand clenched while the other taps at her thigh in a hiccuping rhythm as she paces the short stretch of hallway just outside  _ his _ room. 

This was a bad idea.

Wasn’t it?

No, it was fine. 

If he could do it, so could she. 

The thundering beat of her heart accompanied by the tightness in her chest tells her otherwise. She knows that it’s normal, her body’s own physiological reaction in response to a significant amount of acute stress, something perceived as a threat to her very survival. It was fight or flight, and in that moment, she was leaning more towards the latter. 

Yeah, flight was sounding pretty good right about now.

And though it wasn’t necessarily life and death, knocking on Peter’s door, asking him to hang out-- even after all the confessions and kisses on the bridge-- might as well have been. 

But damn it, they had one more (very much unplanned) night in London, and she wasn’t about to let it go to waste. Due to the terrifying nature of that day’s events, all flights out had been cancelled and rescheduled for the next day, the entire class being put up in some fancy hotel, once again, by someone whose name rhymes with Fick Nury. Although she desperately wanted to be home after the fiasco that was this “vacation,” she knew a night to cool off was probably for the best. After all, Peter had been dangerously, just all around, way too close to dying; getting on an eight hour flight right after with no rest in between would probably not be good for his overall well-being. 

Which was why she was second guessing her decision right now even more, if that was even possible, her hand toying with the silver chain around her neck, coming down to the broken glass pendant.

She’s just convinced herself that maybe this really was a terrible, no good idea, about to turn right on her heels, when the click of his door opening stops her. He startles slightly at the sight of her, his brows raised, mouth twisted into a cute little  _ “o,” _ eyes blinking owlishly in surprise. “Hey.” A breathy chuckle escapes him, a shy grin breaking across his features. 

“Uh, hey,” MJ replies lamely, feeling as if all of the oxygen’s been taken out of the room. Her own lips fight back a dopey smile as she offers a weak wave. 

A beat passes.

Peter clears his throat, eyes falling on the piece of jewelry hanging quietly around her neck. He’s unable to hide the way his cheeks warm and redden, his lips twisting as he bites back a shy smile at the sight of the Black Dahlia necklace he’d given to her just hours before. 

It’s a look that Michelle can’t help but think looks ridiculously good on him. Almost unfairly so. 

He gestures to the necklace, opening his mouth to speak but finds that he’s unable to form coherent, human sentences.

She glances down, her voice soft. “Oh, uh, yeah. I… put it on.” 

“Yeah,” he breathes, not entirely sure why he felt that was an adequate response. “I, uh, was actually gonna come see if you wanted to, uh, hang out. For a bit.”

The smile on Michelle’s face threatens to grow, and she glances down. “Me, too. I mean, I was gonna see if  _ you _ wanted to hang out. Not… Not me,” she laughs breathily. “That’s… that’s why I was in the hallway. To come see you. Uh, yeah…”

God, how did he do that?

How was he the only person that could possibly make her so damn nervous? Make her bumble and ramble on like some kind of lovesick puppy?

“Do you wanna…” He falters, glancing down at his hands. “Do you wanna maybe come in? We can like, watch a movie or something? It’s all on Nick Fury’s bill, so we could probably get whatever we want on pay-per-view…” He jokes, scratching the back of his neck as he rocks on his heels. 

MJ doesn’t even take more than a second to consider. “Yeah. Yeah, totally. That’d be… That’d be cool.”

Peter instantly relaxes, letting out a breath of what she can only assume is relief as he beams at her. 

“Awesome.”

And it was, if she could say so herself,  _ awesome _ . 

Yes, it was awesome, even if they did spend a majority of the actual movie sitting approximately fifty feet away from each other on the bed, still only looking at each other when they thought the other couldn’t see.

(Spoiler alert: they both could.)

She’d catch herself playing with the necklace more than once, and she’s at least ninety percent sure Peter had too.

Not that she cared really. 

The way she’d see him from the corner of her eye, the tips of his ears turning an adorable shade of pink, the way he’d struggled to bite back the dumb little grin tugging at his lips. When she’d felt his pinky lightly, cautiously graze hers, his hand slowly intertwining with her own… It was enough to make the dozens of butterflies in her stomach start to spontaneously combust all at once. 

She’d gone back to her own room close to one in the morning, biting at the inside of her cheek to prevent her grin from growing any wider, feeling as if her body could’ve gone into cardiac arrest after Peter had landed a particularly sweet goodnight kiss right on her mouth. 

And she’d fallen asleep that night, the faint smile on her face never having left, her fingers smoothing over the glass pendant of the necklace. 

It’s almost the same that next morning, seeing him at the complimentary breakfast, sitting across from him at the small table as they both munch happily on some Fruity Pebbles. 

The same feeling’s there when they board the plane home, finally sitting together and using Peter’s dual headphone adapter to watch a plethora of both depressing and funny movies, per her request. His eyes light up, same as they had the night before, seeing the pretty, broken necklace around her neck. 

And of course, the giddy warmth MJ’s been experiencing only skyrockets when she feels Peter’s head fall onto her shoulder, the cutest, faintest snore coming out of his mouth as he naps. 

Her eyes pore over the book in her hand, absentmindedly touching her necklace, her fingers delicately toying with the shattered pendant. Peter had been so sad, so disappointed seeing it broken in her hands, the way he’d rambled on and on about his plan, how sorry he was, still making her stomach to backflips and somersaults. 

But it didn’t matter to her that the necklace wasn’t “perfect.” 

Not in the slightest.

Her lips press into a fond smile when she feels Peter shift, nestling even closer than before, and she leans her head down on top of his, eyes closing.

She really did like it better broken. 

* * *

She wears the necklace everyday. 

Absolutely never, under any circumstances, takes it off.

No exceptions. 

(Well, maybe to sleep. And shower. But those were the only times.)

And every time Peter sees her wearing it, he always has the same reaction, the same one as that one night in London, without fail; he looks down briefly, his lips pressing together in a valiant effort to keep the timid smile tugging at the corner of his mouth from getting any bigger. He does this, even as they reach their first anniversary. 

And their second.

And their third.

And so on.

She’s wearing it the day they actually define their relationship, Peter’s voice the faintest bit shaky as he sits on the opposite end of the couch, asking what if they were “boyfriend and girlfriend.”

And her answer had been surprisingly simple, disguising her own frayed nerves and churning stomach under thinly veiled nonchalance as her eyes meet his. 

“I mean, I’m wearing this, aren’t I?” She’d asked in return, hooking her thumb underneath the silver chain. At his unsure silence, her expression had broken, and she’d glanced down, laughing nervously at her own lame attempt at a joke. “I mean, if you… if you wanna be.”

“I do,” Peter breathes out, worried expression melting away into a smile. “Do… Do you… wanna be… my girlfriend?”

Just as before with his first question, her answer is quick and simple. 

“I do.”

There are other necklaces over the years, of course; ones that friends give her. Ones that her parents give her. Even ones that Peter gives her. 

But, no matter what, she always comes back to the shattered black dahlia. 

It’s weird, how something so small can mean and hold so much. She’s never considered herself an overly sentimental person, never being one to care much about physical objects, but for some reason (and she has a vague idea as to what that is), her entire worldview practically flips on its axis, just for this piece of fine italian jewelry. 

There’s so much to that small necklace, the one he’d first given her all those years ago on the Tower Bridge, and with it comes all of the butterfly-inducing memories of that night and day. Their first kiss. Their first confessions. The beginning of their relationship. Watching movies in his hotel room late at night. 

Really, it means more to her than she could ever possibly even begin to admit. 

And Peter seems to know without her ever saying a word. After all, he feels the same way. 

There’s not a single important milestone or event that she’s not wearing it. 

She wears it with her near matching black prom dress. 

To any and all decathlon meets, especially nationals, because she has this faint inkling that, hey, it might bring them some good luck.

To her dad’s family reunion, hiding in the corner of the room with all of the other introvert Joneses.

To birthday parties.

To graduation.

Everywhere. 

Her mom had noticed, always smirking quietly to herself seeing the piece of jewelry hanging delicately around her daughter’s neck.  _ “You’re gonna end up wearing that thing on your wedding day, aren’t you?” _ She had joked at one point, the warm, teasing glint in her eyes impossible to ignore as she’d helped a college Freshman MJ move into her dorm. 

Then, Michelle had rolled her eyes, stomach flip-flopping in embarrassment at being so called out. She hadn’t answered, instead ignoring her mom’s question as she unconsciously reached a hand up to fiddle with the necklace in question.

And now, nearly six years later, she smiles at the memory, holding the same necklace in her hands, thumb tenderly smoothing over the still shining black glass as she’s zipped into a simple, yet beautiful white gown. 

There was a past to this old necklace, one that was so precious to both MJ and to Peter. One that would be with them always, wherever they went. No matter what.

And her mom had been absolutely right. 

  
  
  



	2. Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooooo here we go bbs!! Enjoy this chapter full of fluff, humor, and still a lot of cheese <3

“Red, black, or white?” 

MJ's voice cuts through the comfortable silence of the living room. Peter looks over to her, blinking in confusion at the way she’s watching him expectantly from behind her laptop screen.

“Huh?” He asks, a brow raising in question. 

“Pick a color.”

“Like… any color?”

“No, like the ones I said.” Her eyes dart right and left. “So… Red, black, or white?”

“Uh….” He pauses, for almost too long, as if his answer could have some sort of lasting consequence. He tilts his head from side to side, chewing at the inside of his lip in thought when he finally settles on one. 

“Red?”

A smirk tugs at MJ’s lips as she looks back down at her screen, clicking away. “Good choice.”

“Why’d you ask?”

Her eyes flit up to his for a fraction of a second. “Buying something.”

“What is it?” He asks, sitting forward as if trying to get a small glimpse over her laptop, curiosity piqued. 

She pulls the lid closer to her, almost shutting the computer. “None of your business,” she says, narrowing her eyes as she fixes him with a steely glare, though it’s not very convincing with the near miniscule upward twitch at the corner of her mouth in an attempt to conceal the amused grin threatening to form. 

(Technically it _ was _ his business, or it certainly _ would be _, but he didn’t need to know that.)

But actually telling him that he’d just inadvertently helped her pick out the lingerie she was going to wear on their wedding night would take all the fun out of it.

Well, maybe not _ all _of it. 

Still, it was going to be a nice surprise.

At least she had hoped. 

In all of their eight years together, with all of their experience—and there was _ experience _—lingerie, the whole get-up, was never really something they did, something they cared about. While MJ’s definitely had her share of nicer, fancier undergarments, they’ve never ventured out into a full on set. To them, it didn’t really make too much sense, especially seeing as the damn thing would just end up forgotten on the floor within a matter of seconds anyway. That wasn’t to say that they were a “wham, bam, thank you ma’am,” kind of couple (though, don’t get them wrong, they weren’t above the occasional, much needed quickie); it wasn’t just a one and done thing with them.

They just didn’t really see the point.

It wasn’t something they needed, both of them more than happy with the current state and direction of their sex life. 

But even then, it’s not like that door was completely shut. 

She figures it might be something nice to do for their wedding night. A special occasion, and she has a funny feeling that Peter’s not gonna be one to complain; not in the slightest.

It’s new. It’s fun. They’re open. 

“Is it for me?” Peter asks, his mouth stretching in a sly grin.

She pauses for a moment’s contemplation before giving a single nod and one-shoulder shrug. “I mean, yeah? Technically it’s for me? But I’m pretty sure you’ll appreciate it.”

An image flashes through her mind, one that makes her subtly shift in her seat on the couch as her stomach, one that shows just _ how much _he’ll appreciate it.

She shakes her head, careful not to let her mind wander too far ahead. 

“Can I have a hint?” Peter’s head falls back against the couch, whipping out his best puppy-dog eyes and pout. “Pleeeease?”

Honestly, it was like dealing with a child sometimes. 

A grown-ass, twenty-four-year-old child.

MJ doesn’t even glance up from her screen, smirking quietly to herself. “Nope,” she says simply, audibly popping the ‘p,’ just for emphasis.

He deflates, groaning in petulant frustration, though he’s unable to hide that faint hint of amusement to his tone. 

For once, she actually takes pity on him, chuckling quietly to herself as she shakes her head. “Hey.” She nudges him gently with her foot, and he looks up at her with that same pleading, overly-dramatic, hopeless expression. 

It’s funny; she doesn’t remember buying the tickets for this guilt trip.

God, he was too good at this. 

“I can’t ruin the surprise,” she relents, only just. 

“Ugh, fine.” His eyes move to her again, though he doesn’t turn completely. “A good surprise?”

And finally, the smirk wins, and she bites her lip in an effort to hide it from behind her computer screen.

“A really good one.”

* * *

Surprisingly, Peter hasn’t asked about the mysterious online purchase since that night, even when he finds the suspicious package sitting just outside their door. She’d fully expected him to be more annoying about it, given that he was just a naturally curious person, especially when it was something that involved himself. 

The one time he’d said something was a quiet, shady little remark about how secrets didn’t make friends.

MJ had quickly shut that down, reminding him that one, he hides that fact that he’s Spider-Man (or tries to) from literally everyone he meets, and two, on a related note, she had to figure it out on her own. He only told her after the fact. 

He shut up after that. 

It was truly a thrill, keeping something like this from him, knowing that the suspense was surely driving him absolutely crazy. 

And she does well, for the most part, not giving away the surprise. 

Even when she takes the UPS box from him, ignoring the way he’s eyeing her carefully, his gaze calculating as she darts to their shared bedroom and shuts the door. Honestly, at this point, he probably has a vague idea as to what this could be, but she doesn’t care. 

There’s a smaller, much fancier white box, complete with a delicate little bow when she opens the first one, and she’s almost too careful as she pulls the lid free. The deep red fabric is a stark contrast against the white tissue paper, a simple, yet seemingly complicated number. Her thumb runs over the soft lace, eyes inspecting every inch of the garment, just taking it all in. 

Her mouth twitches into a satisfied frown, head nodding in approval. 

Not bad.

Not bad at all.

The distant sounds of pots and pans from the kitchen reminds her that she’s not exactly home alone. Peter is still very much here. If he really wanted to, he could just burst through the door like the fucking kool-aid man and see the surprise for himself. 

She’d have to try it on later. 

Preferably when her _ darling _ fiancé isn’t home.

(And when she has time to actually figure this thing out.) 

Though, if she’s being honest, she does feel the _ tiniest _ bit guilty for keeping him in the dark, especially since he’s only made one, frankly pitiful, attempt at getting an answer out of her. Again, she hadn’t expected him to be as patient as he was; perhaps it telling him—or hell, putting it on and _ showing him _—wouldn’t ruin the surprise all that much. 

It wasn’t that big of a deal.

But she shakes that thought immediately, instead deciding to just hide the fancy white box in the depths of their closet. 

Out of sight, out of mind right?

Wrong. Very wrong.

Less than three hours later and she’s already caved.

Because she can’t stop thinking about the box hiding in the back of their walk-in closet, filled with lace and satin, even as they eat dinner together; even as they watch (or rather, don’t watch, both of them too distracted by the other) movies, cuddled on the couch; even as she feels one of Peter’s hands slowly, _ slowly _ trailing up her thigh; even as she’s pinned to the mattress after a night of flirting and teasing; even as his hands hitch one of her legs around his waist, feeling him pressing against her inner thigh, and _ even as _ his lips leave hers, leaving languid, hungry kisses along the column of her throat.

The distraction is too much.

She can’t take it.

She’s too excited.

Michelle Jones might have been good—no, scratch that, _ excellent _—at keeping secrets, but this was definitely the exception.

“Wait wait wait wait—” She stops him right as his hand dips under the waistband of her (his) sweatpants, placing her own hand on his chest, gently pushing him back despite the way her body is silently screaming in protest. 

Immediately, he pulls away, looking down at her with all the worry and concern in the world, brows pinched together. “What? What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah yeah. I’m fine,” She reassures him, trying to catch her breath as they both sit up. “Just got something to show you.”

Relief floods him, and he relaxes, an easy grin pulling at his lips. “Is it the surprise?” He guesses, his hand coming to rest on her thigh, casually smoothing over the fabric of her sweats.. 

“Maybe,” she shrugs. 

He doesn’t miss the flicker or mischief in her eyes as she jumps from the bed and into the closet, his mouth twisting in amusement and anticipation. The implications were there, about a million ideas—all amazing—running through his head as to what this long-awaited surprise could have been. Biting his lip, he leans back, tucking an arm behind his head, waiting patiently as he listens to her shuffle about. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she steps back out, still fully clothed, a fancy box in her outstretched hands. 

He fixes her with a bemused smile, tilting his head a fraction as she places the surprise on the bed in front of him. 

“What?” She asks when he’s silent for a second too long.

He shrugs. “I thought you were doing that whole, ‘lemme slip into something more comfortable,’ thing… The surprise?”

“Oh,” she remembers herself, barely taking a second before she kicks off her sweatpants, leaving her in the just the thin t-shirt. She quirks an amused brow at him. “There. I know it’s not much, but—”

“—it really changes the look,” Peter finishes for her, nodding seriously as his eyes travel the length of her now bare legs, though the corners of his lips twitch upward as he fights back a grin. 

“Exactly.”

“I like it.”

“Okay, but me not wearing pants isn’t the surprise, so…” She gestures vaguely to the box next to him. 

He chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs for the fancy box, not taking his eyes off her as he pulls the ribbon free and removes the lid. Her stomach flutters as she watches him, unconsciously holding her breath as he finally looks down.

“Oh,” he breathes, the right corner of his mouth quirking up into an impressed half-smirk as he carefully holds the straps of the red lace in his hands. He turns it around, eyes raking over every inch—though, there’s not a whole lot—of the soft fabric. “What’s this?”

MJ gives a half-hearted, innocent shrug. “Not much. Just something new for the wedding night.” 

Realization floods Peter’s features, and somehow, his grin widens. “This is gonna be under your dress?”

“Well, kinda. I’ll wear the underwear… but not the whole set,” she says, eyes shifting from side to side. “That shit’s for later. And I’m pretty sure you’d be able to see it through the dress.”

Peter smirks playfully. “I mean, I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

Her face scrunches. “Gross.” She pauses, biting her lip as she watches him inspect the near-burgundy lace. “Do you like it?”

His expression grows serious, calculating, lips twisting in concentration. “I don’t know…” He tilts his head, raising a brow as he looks over at her, then back to the lingerie in his hands, then back to her. 

“I think I need to see it on. Just to really form a solid opinion on it.”

He’s entirely too proud of that, she thinks.

“Yeah, no. Not gonna happen.”

His bottom lip juts out slightly into a pout that MJ has to repeatedly tell herself isn’t cute; at least not enough for her to change her mind. “You’re not gonna put it on?”

“No, you dork,” she huffs, trying to seem annoyed. “It’s for our first night of wedded bliss, or whatever. Plus, that’s just more effort on my part.” 

Peter chuckles, tossing the lingerie back in the box, reaching out to take her hand and pull her closer, his thumb tracing soft lines into her skin. “Am I not worth it?”

She squints, tilting her head in mock contemplation, her voice more than an octave higher as she pretends to struggle. “Well…” 

A genuine belly laugh escapes him as he lets go of her hand, only to snake both arms around her hips, bringing her even closer. “I love you.” His voice is muffled against her side as he gives her an affectionate squeeze.

Her heart soars at how impossibly soft the gesture is, that fuzzy feeling that always brings a certain comfort with it radiating throughout her body. It’s been years since she’s actually been nervous around Peter. When they got out of that initial honeymoon, 24/7 butterflies-in-your-stomach phase, she’d been worried, wondering if it meant that something was wrong. But, as they grew, both as a couple and as individuals, she’d realized that the new feeling when they were together was a million times better. 

It was warm. 

It was safe.

It was pure, unadulterated happiness. 

“I love you, too.” MJ’s cheeks hurt from all the smiling she’s been doing, a light laugh bubbling out of her as she cards a gentle hand through his curls.

Peter pulls his head back, beaming up at her, though his dopey smile and loving brown eyes do nothing to distract her from the way one of his hands at the small of her back lowers, _ completely by accident _.

She opens her mouth, snarky comment at the ready, to call him out on being so damn handsy, before her world is flipped—literally—and she’s on her back, Peter hovering above her with this dumb grin on his dumb face. 

She’d like to say that the sound that had come out of her mouth was a very dainty, cute squeal.

But it’s more of a surprised, if not a little undignified squawk.

He picks up where they left off, bringing a hand to her knee, prising her legs apart and settling in the open space before continuing his earlier assault on her neck. 

Desperately fighting off a surrendering smile, she smacks his chest. “I hate you.”

“Damn.” He pulls back, snickering to himself, tongue between his teeth, his wandering hands ghosting over her hips before pinching her sides. “Guess we better call off the wedding then?”

Jolting at the touch, her alarmed laugh brings another big dumb smirk to his face, now inches away from hers. Her skin alights as his hand trails up her bare thigh, breath hitching when his fingers brush against the lace trim of her underwear. 

“I guess so,” she jokes with him, tugging at the hem of his shirt, trying to maintain some sense of composure as he pulls it off and throws it somewhere across the room; though, to be honest, she’s finding it to be increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything other than his hands on her body, his lips on her neck.

She also finds that they’re still wearing too many clothes. 

“What a shame.” His laugh dissolves into a breathy, soft groan when she rolls her hips in retaliation. 

Capturing her lips into a searing kiss, he rolls them over, leaning back against the headboard, unable to contain his smug grin at the sigh that leaves her body when she settles fully onto his lap and mindlessly grinds down.

It all starts to happen so quickly, her shirt haphazardly thrown behind her. It's dizzying; the heat of his skin under her hands, the new feeling of his hardness now completely pressing against her. And it’s intoxicating; seeing the way his muscles twitch and flex at even the lightest of touches, his mouth hot as he kisses her.

He intertwines his hand with her own, and she feels him smile against her lips before he suddenly pulls away. 

“Hey, since we’re not getting married anymore,” he starts, still teasing, and she has to stop herself from smacking him again as she blinks slowly, staring at the wall just above his head. 

Her silence (obviously) doesn't stop him. 

"And since there's no wedding night to wait for…” He actually fucking winks at her, the audacity of it all. “Maybe, I dunno… you could…" He trails off, voice dropping as his hands come down to rest on her hips, giving them a playful squeeze. "Put that red thing on? For me?"

Of fucking course he would. 

The urge to roll her eyes into another dimension is the strongest it's ever been. She'd say that she can't believe him, but then she'd be a liar. Though, her pointed glare isn't very convincing, the faint upward twitch of the corners of her mouth impossible to miss. 

"Nah."

Peter quirks a brow at her. "Why not?"

"Because," she deadpans, giving a weak shrug. 

"Because why?"

She shakes her head at his persistence, closing the distance between them, hoping that a sound kiss will shut him up. 

And it seems to work at first, until she pulls back and he's still looking at her expectantly, the teasing glint still in his eyes. 

The exasperated laugh that bubbles out of her comes without warning; maintaining that stern, steely, assertive glare becoming harder and harder every second he’s looking at her with those big dumb eyes, his dumb teeth biting his dumb tongue.

"Because you're being a little shit!" 

"I have no idea what you're talking about." His cheeky smirk just barely disappears as he pulls her in for another kiss, abandoning all attempts at subtly as he lets his hands fall even lower on her body.

“Also—” This time, she's the one who stops, her expression almost completely blank, save for the faint beginnings of another grin playing on her lips.

Peter looks up at her, waiting patiently for whatever she has to say as his thumbs rub soothing circles into her skin.

“I can’t figure out how to put it on."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh hoped you guys liked this one!! It makes me so happy seeing how much you guys enjoyed the first chapter. Thanks for reading and for leaving comments and kudos! Let me know what you thought of this one!! Tune back in next week for the "something borrowed" <3
> 
> follow me on tumblr @spiderman-homecomeme and on twitter @smhomecomeme


	3. Something Borrowed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! This one was so lovely to write, and I hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> Also, a big thank you to everyone reading and following along, and for all the comments, kudos, and what not. <3 It means the world to me!!

“I’m not gonna say it again, Peter. I’m done trying to explain this to you—”

“—MJ, please, just hear me out—”

“—Absolutely not. End of discussion.”

“Last time I checked this was_ our _ wedding—”

“—And now I have to say it again—”

“—Not _ your _ wedding—”

“—We’re _ not _ doing our first dance to _ The Time of My Life.” _

Peter’s head jerks back, face scrunching in confusion as he stares at her. “And why the hell not?” 

There’s the faintest upward twitch of his lips at the exasperated groan that comes from his fiancée as she buries her head in her hands; he knows full well that he’s being a complete—to put it _ nicely _—shithead. 

And she knows it, too, as she tries her best not to bash her head against the dining room table. “Oh my God—”

“MJ, I can _ literally _ do the lift.” He pushes her buttons even more, seemingly just too damn proud of himself. “Just imagine it. I’m Johnny. You’re Baby. It would be… so dope.”

She looks up at him, blinking slowly, thoroughly unimpressed. 

“Okay, okay, okay. Fine,” he chuckles, and she thinks for a moment that they can move on from this like normal adults, that he’ll finally let the joke go. That maybe, just maybe, he’ll give her a moment of peace and they can enjoy the rest of the nice dinner that Aunt May had so graciously prepared for them.

She really should have known better.

“If you think _ you _ can do it, you can be Johnny.”

Her eyes narrow.

A beat.

Another slow blink. 

His mouths twists, lips pressed tightly together, eyes gleaming with mischief as he holds back the laugh threatening to burst out of him. 

“Are you done?” MJ asks, tone even. 

The corners of Peter’s eyes crinkle as he grins a toothy, perfectly innocent grin back at her. 

“Never.”

And as annoyed as she currently is at her darling, dearest, sweet and wonderful fiancé, she can’t hold back the scoff-snort that escapes her as she shakes her head at him. 

God, what a dumbass.

She loved him so much.

“You’re a patient, patient woman, MJ,” May huffs as she steps back into the dining room, having returned with three wine glasses and a bottle of pinot grigio.

Peter sits up in his chair, opening his mouth to retort before MJ cuts him off. 

“I try.” She gives a half-hearted shrug, passing Peter a playful wink before handing the bottle opener to May. “It’s a good thing he’s pretty.”

May laughs hard at that particular statement. 

The sudden, distant sirens can be heard from inside the apartment, the room falling silent as the sound passes by. Peter’s phone chimes, the police radio crackling through; something about another break-in, a serial art thief striking again in one of the richer neighborhoods. 

Peter freezes, eyes wide in question as he glances between the two women and the window, throwing a cautious thumb over his shoulder. “I—Uh—”

“Go,” May says, excusing him with a gentle sigh. 

It’s funny, because MJ can’t tell whether or not Peter’s more eager to leave because he gets to go fight crime, or because he’s been freed, been given an out, from the relentless teasing that both she and May could have put him through. 

Less than a minute later, he’s back, suit on sans mask, rushing as he wraps May up in a quick hug before planting a fleeting kiss on Michelle’s lips.

And then, before any of them can wave him off, he’s leaping out the window.

Leaving them all alone to clean up dinner. 

A moment passes. May shakes her head, laughing quietly as she pours them both a glass of the white wine. “He’ll owe us.”

And to that, MJ chuckles with her, tipping the glass. “He already does.”

May clinks their glasses together, lips twisting into a knowing smirk as she takes a sip. 

Although the call had come out of nowhere, neither of them minded, or were really all that surprised. It was just something that happened, almost part of the daily routine. Plus, it was nice to have the quality time together. In the years that MJ’s been with Peter, May’s become not only another maternal figure in her life, but someone she could turn to. Someone she could trust. Anything Michelle needed to talk about—even, no _ especially _ when it concerned Peter—May was there. 

And she would listen. Not just as Peter’s aunt, but as MJ’s friend. 

There’s all these horror stories everyone tells her about the nightmare of in-laws, how hated they are, how it’s almost better to just ignore them and pretend that they don’t exist, and even in some cases, how they can straight up ruin a perfectly good marriage. 

But, even though she’s not the traditional mother-in-law, May couldn’t possibly be any farther from that entirely too common misconception. 

They talk for awhile, neither of them sure of how much time has passed since Peter flew out the seventh story window, about anything and everything, from the quality of the wine (it’s a little too dry, May points out, but she likes it anyway), to the way her and Peter’s landlord still hasn’t responded to her last text regarding the ever so slightly leaky sink.

And, probably what May’s most excited about, the wedding. 

It’s still in the early phases at this point, the venue having only been chosen in the past week. And she had the dress (kind of; she didn’t physically have it, but she picked it out!)

But that was about it. Though, there wasn’t much going into the actual ceremony; it was going to be a small wedding, only family and very close friends being in attendance, both MJ and Peter not wanting all of the fuss and expense.

(They still have to pay off those pesky grad school loans, and they weren’t even done yet.)

The reception, however, was going to be bigger. 

Something Peter was more than a little excited about. 

“You know, Ben and I had a home wedding.” May swirls the wine in her glass, a fond smile pulling at her lips. 

Humming, Michelle grins faintly. “Really?”

May nods. “In my grandmother’s house. Ben and I—we wanted something more intimate, and cheap,” she laughs quietly. “And grandma Eddie… she had this big, fancy living room. But it wasn’t too gaudy or anything like that. Oh—and the fireplace was this gorgeous, mahogany—I think? I wasn’t sure then either.” She laughs again, her eyes sparkling with joy at the memories. “It was just so beautiful…” 

“It sounds beautiful,” Michelle readily agrees.

Somehow, the excitement in May’s eyes grows. They light up even more. “Oh, I have to show you now. Hold on!”

It doesn’t take long; she rushes out of the room, returning with a simple, yet pretty photo album, her smile having never left. 

The album is still in near perfect condition, pristine, not a trace of dust or a photo out of place. 

Something tugs at Michelle’s heart as she opens to the first page. The first picture shows the bride and groom in a close embrace, a beaming smile on May’s face as she stares up at Ben, wearing the same expression, the love and warmth between them almost glowing. 

Ben looks so handsome, May looking beautiful as ever. 

MJ immediately smiles, seeing the elegant white gown, the off-the shoulder lace and the delicate fall of the satin fabric. “Wow. Your dress…”

“Pretty right?” May grins. “Not bad for the nineties, huh?”

The page turns, again and again, showing another series of photos, all of them showing Ben and May deliriously happy and in love; pictures of friends and family, of Peter’s parents, Richard and Mary, a close up shot of the rings on Ben’s and May’s hands. There’s a few candid shots where they aren’t smiling, but still holding each other in tender embraces. 

And MJ can’t help but notice the way May’s voice tightens as they look at all the photos, all of the memories; the way she clears her throat, the way she blinks back the prickling feeling behind her eyes. 

There’s pictures of the first dance, and the second; one showing May laughing against her husband’s shoulder, a smug grin that Michelle’s definitely seen somewhere before on his face. 

“We were dancing to _ My Girl _ ,” May explains, huffing out a laugh as she tries to subtly wipe at her eyes. “And he’d always look right at me when he sang, _ ‘when it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May.’ _Always so proud of himself for that, too.” She chuckles, shaking her head fondly. “He did it every time.”

MJ lets out a quiet, all-too-knowing laugh. 

The corners of May’s lips twitch again, her chin quivering slightly as she looks down at the photos. 

Though, she quickly collects herself, her body relaxing as she lets out a deep, shaky sigh. “So how’s the dress coming?” She asks, shifting the attention to Michelle, her eyes still glistening as she puts on a watery, yet still genuine smile.

MJ shrugs, lips quirking into a faint, brief half-smile. “It’s good, I think. My first fitting is in… a week and a half I think? On the third.” 

“Are you excited?” May asks, her eyes twinkling, the same look in her eyes the day she, MJ’s mom, and Betty watched her literally _ say yes to the dress. _

Michelle gives a small, yet enthusiastic nod, though she still tries to play it down. “Yeah,” she responds. It had been a tiring day, trying on gown after gown; she hadn’t even really known where to start. Any dresses she wore were usually hand-me-downs, and they weren’t anything she’d ever put much thought into.

How many she actually tried on, she wasn’t sure, but it was probably in the hundreds.

(Maybe she’s being a bit dramatic, but still. It was a lot.)

Her mom had cried when they found_ the one _. May and Betty, too. 

And there was the possibility that MJ also got the tiniest bit emotional seeing herself in the mirror. 

An actual bride.

Adding the veil only doubled the feelings though, at least in the three women with her. MJ honestly wasn’t feeling any of the ones the consultant gave her to try on. Sure, it made her look more bridal, more like she was at the wedding right then and there. 

But, again, none of them really… added anything for her.

MJ gives a half-shrug. “Still not sure what I’m gonna do about that veil though. I didn’t really like any in the store, I dunno.” She pauses, thinking for a moment. “I figured I could use the one my mom wore, but she and my dad had a small wedding, like really small—they pretty much eloped—so she didn’t have one…”

Suddenly, May gets an idea, her face lighting up. “Borrow mine!” She suggests as if it had been obvious the entire time. 

“Huh?”

“You can use mine! It’s so pretty and it would go so well with that dress—Oh let me go get it!”

May doesn’t even wait for her to respond before rushing to her bedroom, once again. 

She brings a pretty, pristine box out. “Here she is.”

It’s a beautiful veil, very classic. The fabric isn’t itchy like some, it’s soft and sheer, and it almost floats as May lifts it from the box.

And it also looks very expensive. 

MJ’s not sure what to say, too overcome with some unnamed emotion weighing on her chest when May hands her the veil. It’s impossibly beautiful, Michelle thinks as she gingerly touches the sheer fabric. 

It’s absolutely perfect.

“May, I don’t know—”

“—You still need that something borrowed right?” May asks, smiling warmly as she sits back down in front of her. 

It’s suddenly very hard to speak. Michelle clears her throat, nodding, letting out an amused huff. “I do still need that.”

“Well, there you go.” 

May was more than willing to loan it. She and Ben, in their too short of time together, had had such a wonderful, happy marriage, both of them so ridiculously in love with each other. It had been some of the best years of her life, being with Ben. There wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t miss him, where she didn’t love him, where she didn’t look back on those blissful days together, a day where she didn’t smile remembering something funny he’d said, or how he’d told her he loved her.

And now, all she wanted nothing more than to share a part of that happiness with Peter and MJ. 

MJ looks down briefly at the veil in her hands before looking back up, unable to stop herself from smiling. “Thanks.”

May pulls her into a warm, motherly hug. “Anytime, sweetie.”

* * *

After helping May with the rest of the dishes, and after a few more teary hugs, Michelle goes home, the cozy, happy feeling never having left as she reads in bed, the new box sitting quietly on top of the dresser in the corner of the room.

Peter stumbles in through the bedroom window nearly two hours later, around twelve-thirty in the morning, lazily crawling out of his suit as she falls next to her on the mattress, face down into one of the pillows.

“Hey, Tiger,” she smirks, running a loving hand through the hair on the back of his head. 

He mumbles an exhausted greeting, voice muffled by the pillow. 

“Rough night?”

He pushes up slightly to look up at her. “A _ long _ night.” He sighs, finally turning over onto his back. “Sorry I left.” 

“S’okay.” MJ’s hand still continues to card through his dark, slightly sweaty curls. “May and I had a good talk while you were gone.”

“Uh oh,” Peter laughs. “What’d you guys talk about?”

“How I should just get out now while I can.” She doesn’t miss a beat, her expression and tone in her true, Michelle Jones deadpan. 

His body shakes with another laugh. “That’s fair.” 

Looking down at him, the way he’s smiling up at her, his expression so full of love and teasing warmth… it all reminds her of May and Ben, and just how incandescently happy they’d both looked as they danced, laughed, and joked together on their wedding day. 

She puts her book down, sinking into the mattress next to her sleepy fiancé. The surprised smile on his face is almost audible as she pulls herself to him, nestling as close as she humanly can. 

He chuckles, capturing her lips into a tender kiss. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

And she grins, snuggling closer, a contented sigh leaving her body as she shuts her eyes. 

It had been so easy to see how in love with each other Ben and May were, so easy to see how they cared for each other, all from just a few photos. 

How they were both so ready to spend the rest of their lives together; two best friends, utterly devoted. 

And it had been easy because it’s a feeling—that same feeling—that Michelle knows too well when she looks at Peter. 

“Me neither.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you surprised that I teared up while writing this one? I'M NOT lmao
> 
> Hope you liked it! And I hope you guys are excited for the last chapter!! Let me know what you thought! 
> 
> follow me on tumblr @spiderman-homecomeme and on twitter @smhomecomeme


	4. Something Blue (and Red)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO. This took a long time but THANK YOU ALL for your patience!! I'm sorry I disappeared for a bit, but I was finally able to finish this one! Also, are we surprised that I cried writing this final chapter too? bc i'm not
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read this and to everyone who has left such sweet comments! It really means the world to me!! <3
> 
> So, ON WITH THE WEDDING!! ENJOY!!!

In his twenty-four years of being alive, Peter’s not sure that something’s ever been so right-- ever  _ felt _ so right. Rarely have the stars aligned in such a way, so perfectly as they had in that specific moment as he stood, waiting in the winding check-out line of his local TJ Maxx, his arms already full of items he didn’t necessarily need.

But when he saw  _ them, _ he  _ knew. _

There was nothing else to do, no choice left to make. 

No question in his mind as the bored teen mindlessly scans the treasures, as he swipes his debit card, as he answers the age old question on the pinpad, “amount okay?”

MJ, however, seems less than impressed with the purchase, holding the limited edition Spider-Man socks between her fingers as if they might bite her, her nose crinkling in disgust. 

“Seriously?” She asks, fixing him with a quizzical brow. 

“Seriously,” He beams, obviously more excited than she was. “I  _ had _ to.”

“Uh-huh,” she speaks slowly, carefully examining the blue and red socks. “And you don’t think that it might have been a little reckless for you, Peter Parker, to buy Spider-Man socks?”

Peter gives an innocent shrug, mouth twitching into a nonchalant frown. “Nah. The cashier just thought I was a big fan. We had a nice chat about Spidey. No biggie.”

Her face remains expressionless as she stares blankly at him, save for the skeptical quirk of her brow. 

Peter decides to simply ignore the doubt radiating from his fiancée, his lips pulling back into a mischievous grin. “That’s not all…” 

She barely has any time to ask before he hikes his leg up, propping his foot on the couch, revealing the exact same pair of socks. 

“Now we can really be the most powerful couple out there.”

MJ can only shake her head in response, forcing an exasperated breath through her nose as the faint beginning of a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. If she were being completely honest, she wasn’t in love with the idea of becoming one of  _ those _ couples; she loved Peter, more than anything, but…

Enough to wear matching socks?

Peter doesn’t mind her immediate dislike of the garments. In fact, he almost welcomes it. One extra pair for him; just means that he doesn’t have to do laundry as much, right?

(MJ tells him that that’s not what that means.)

And perhaps he wears them a bit too much, especially for someone who’s quite literally donning socks with his own (masked) face on them. It had started as a weekend only, nights-in at home thing, though it wasn’t long before he was wearing them to work, to date night, family dinners, everywhere. She’s never surprised when she sees the masked cartoon peek from under the hem of his jeans. 

He claims that they’re comfy, that they’re warm, that all his other socks were dirty, etc., etc. 

And really, Michelle doesn’t mind or care all that much. Whatever Peter wants to wear isn’t any of her damn business. It’s funny, it’s cute, it’s just her loveable, dumb fiancé.

But it does make their more, ahem,  _ intimate _ moments a bit more difficult. 

If only because seeing those damn things in all their bright blue and red glory on his feet, after he’s whispered the things he’s whispered into her ear, after he’s been trying to be so sultry and serious. 

MJ can’t help but tease. 

“Those staying, too?” Her voice is steady, just barely hiding the humor in her tone as she gestures at his feet.

He pauses momentarily, his shirt now crumpled in his own hand, confused for a moment before following her gaze. 

And then, she laughs at her own question, hiding her face behind her hands as he playfully throws his shirt at her; he nearly trips as he steps out of his boxers, making a point to show that,  _ yes, MJ, the Spider-Man socks stay  _ ** _on _ ** _ during sex. _

It’s no surprise when she sees the very same socks as she steps out of the shower, set out next to his black and white tux the morning of their wedding. 

She wouldn’t expect anything less. 

A small smile tugs at her lips at the recent memory, just hours before, as she stares at herself in the floor-length mirror, her mother and May both working diligently (yet gently) at the buttons on the back of her dress, Betty standing in front of her. 

That same warmth she always feels around Peter has been in full force today, and she even finds the old, yet welcome fluttering of butterflies in her stomach when the dress is finally  _ on _ . Throughout her life, she’s never quite understood what it meant to “feel like a bride.” It was just a white dress; how could it have so much power? Even when shopping, when buying the dress, she didn’t get that exact feeling. Sure, it made everything much more real, but it wasn’t  _ this _ .

Yet now, in spite of all of her past notions, she finally gets it; the delicate lace on the bodice and the long, elegant sleeves, the deep-v neckline, that final addition of something blue, and with that same shattered Black Dahlia necklace Peter had given her all those years ago. 

Damn it, she feels like a bride.

Her mother subtly wipes at her eyes as she moves to stand in front of her daughter, clasping her hands to her chest with an almost dreamy sigh. “God, you look beautiful, Michelle.”

May nods, smiling warmly, her own eyes sparkling. “Agreed.”

“So pretty!” Betty adds, her giddiness shining through.

MJ huffs out a light chuckle, mumbling out a quiet, “Thank you,” as her hands smooth over the soft satin of her skirt. Her mind immediately goes to Peter, what he’s doing right now, how nervous he must be, and what he’ll think when he sees her, when she walks down the aisle; and just like that, her stomach does a few more giddy backflips, and she bites her lip to keep the excitement in. 

“And now,” May starts, breaking the silence, a knowing grin on her face as she moves to open the final box. “For the finishing touch.”

MJ was so incredibly wrong.

_ Now _ .

Now, as the veil is placed on her head, she  _ honestly, truly _ , feels like a bride. 

“There,” May says, gently adjusting the fabric a fraction of an inch so that the veil lays prettily against Michelle’s curls. 

Again, Michelle’s mother sighs, though along with the misty eyes comes a twitch of a frown fighting back the tears. 

MJ playfully rolls her eyes. “I’m not even married yet, Mom, come on,” she gently teases as she pulls her mother into a hug. 

“I know, I know,” the older woman says with a soft, sheepish laugh. She pulls back, looking at the two Jones women staring back at them in the mirror. “Give me a break, okay? I’m just so happy for my little girl,” she adds, squeezing her daughter’s side.

Michelle utters another, “thanks,” looking down to hide her widening grin. 

“I don’t blame you,” May says with a shake of her head and a kind smile. She looks to Michelle, expression warm and excited. “You ready, Em?”

The bride looks up again at her reflection, taking everything in again. 

It was happening. 

Today was the day. 

And MJ had never been more ready.

* * *

Peter could have sworn he was dreaming. 

This whole relationship even. 

In what universe was he lucky enough to land someone like Michelle Jones, to get her to marry him, to marry his dumb ass and all the trouble and shit he gets himself into? What did he do to deserve such a partner-in-vigilante-justice?

He looks to Ned at his left, his best friend giving him an encouraging grin and a subtle (yet actually not all that subtle) thumbs up; then to his aunt, to his mentor, to his friends in the seats in front of him. 

But when his eyes finally land on her, his very soon-to-be wife, he finds that he can’t look anywhere else. 

Not that he’d ever want to.

He always thinks that she’s perfect, no matter what; she could literally wear a brown paper bag and he’d still marry her. But, cheesy as it sounds, the air feels like it’s quite literally been taken right from his lungs. 

Even now, after six whole, wonderful, perfect years together, without fail, MJ still manages to make him forget how to breathe, the sight of her in that simple white dress, holding the bouquet of white roses and black dahlias, making his chest tighten at just  _ how pretty _ she is. He knows that there’s probably tears in his eyes, but he honestly can’t tell, nor does he care when he sees the faint smirk painting her lips from under the sheer veil. 

Again, he really is the luckiest loser in the world. 

A lucky loser who happens to be wearing blue and red Spider-Man socks. 

What can he say? It’s the nice boost of confidence. Ned has his hats, Peter has his Spidey socks. 

He’s unable to hold back or fight his smile--though it’s not like he’s really trying all that hard--as she finally reaches him. She glances down, and he can see the toothy grin from behind her veil, the soft expression causing his heart to swell. He helps her pull the veil back, finally able to see her after a whole day apart. 

The officiant welcomes everyone, beginning the ceremony with a short speech of thanks that both Peter and MJ had written before hand. 

However, Peter finds that he can’t hear what the man is saying over how beautiful his fiancée is.

He almost doesn’t hear him ask to start the vows. 

Peter snaps out of his trance, pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket. “Oh, yeah! Sorry. Uh, yeah. Vows.” A faint pink blush settles over his features as he stammers. A quiet murmur of good-natured chuckles briefly fills the room, MJ joining in, of course. 

“MJ,” He starts. He feels the lump in his throat, the emotion fluttering in his stomach. He coughs, looking between the paper and the love of his life. “You are my favorite person. My best friend in the entire world. Sorry Ned.”

That gets another laugh, both from MJ and the room, and Peter passes a teasing, fake-sheepish smile to his best man. 

Ned waves it off with a laugh, shaking his head. 

Peter continues. “I feel so overwhelmingly lucky and proud to stand here with you today. Honestly, I feel like I hit the jackpot. When I’m with you, MJ, I’m the best version of myself. Because… with you, I’m always utterly and unapologetically myself. You accept me for who I am, even if I can be a bit of a dumbass sometimes. There’s not much for me to say that I haven’t already said, you know me, and there’s not much to give that’s not already freely given. But… I’ll give it a shot.” 

He takes another deep breath, glancing up to see the warmth and love in MJ’s expression, his chest tightening. “I promise to always try and make you laugh and smile, no matter what, even if my jokes aren’t really that funny, because let’s be honest, those are my best ones.”

MJ shakes her head, not even trying to fight back her smile. 

“I promise to be a better roommate, and to actually put dishes in the dishwasher instead of in the sink or on the counter by the sink. I promise to send every conspiracy theory I find, even the ones you’ve already heard. I promise to listen to your advice, and even occasionally, I promise to take that advice. I promise to love you more and more. After every win. After every fight. After every laugh.” He pauses for a moment, clearing his throat once more, combatting the shakiness. He looks back up at her, no longer reading from the folded piece of paper. “And finally, I promise to always strive to be worthy of the love you give me so freely and openly, and to never, ever take that love for granted, and to always give it back.”

He wants to make some dumb joke about how she’s a thief, taking his breath away, but he doesn’t. 

“I really like you, MJ.”

Her face crumples slightly at the callback, though she holds herself together, if only so she can get through actually reading her end of the vows, as Betty hands her her own paper. 

A beat of silence passes as MJ gathers both her thoughts and emotions. 

“Peter,” she starts, a slight shake already to her voice. Be it from nerves or overwhelming emotions, she’s not sure. “You’re my best friend. My partner. My supporter. You’ve loved me through easy times and hard times, and I am so incredibly grateful for you and the support you have always given me. Now… Promises have always scared me. Maybe I’ve been too cautious in making them, too afraid that a change in circumstance or myself will rip the world out from under me. But… over the years, I’ve found that they can remind me of solid ground when things get shaky. Here are some promises that I can happily give to you.”

She looks up at him for the briefest of moments, heart warming. “I promise to put you first, and love you, even when you’re purposefully trying to annoy me.”

A warm laugh. 

Her grin turns more playful as she looks back down at the paper. “I promise to always admit when I’m wrong--which we both know, I never am, but that’s beside the point--and to forgive you when you are. I promise to try to laugh, a real, honest laugh, at your jokes, even if they aren’t funny.” 

MJ hears him scoff, her lips twisting into an even bigger smile at the sound. She continues. “I can’t promise to never make fun of you, but… I  _ can _ promise to always kiss you after, just to say sorry,” she vows, shooting him another glance. “I promise to be there, no matter what, to help you when you need me. And I promise to keep updating these as we go. Because one set of vows can’t cover a lifetime of getting to grow and change alongside you. Of falling more and more in love with you everyday, which is what I promise to do for the rest of my life.”

She hands the paper back to Betty before taking his hand in hers. She’s pretty sure that’s not entirely in the whole wedding protocol, but she doesn’t care right now. 

“I really like you, too.”

And then it all happens too quickly, neither of them seeing or hearing anything else as they exchange the rings. 

There are no more words spoken between them, apart from “I do.” No more thoughts. 

… besides  _ finally _ as they hear the fateful, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

And so, Peter does.

* * *

He’s not sure what song is playing now as he holds his new wife on the dance floor; he’s certain it’s not a song that you really slow dance to either, but he doesn’t care. After the very first one, he’s sort of lost track, too lost in his arm around her waist, hand on her back, the other holding hers. 

He attempts to twirl her, though she has to awkwardly duck down under his arm, the mishap causing them to both erupt in giggles. 

“I told you we needed ballroom dance lessons,” Peter tsks, pulling her close again. 

“You’re right,” she remarks dryly, though he can feel her breathe out an amused smile against him. “Here, I’ll twirl you.”

He obliges, laughing when he’s able to pass under her arm much more easily. Mid-spin, his eyes land on her necklace once again, and he can’t help the way his heartstrings swell like the first violin section in an orchestra. 

“Black Dahlia,” he points out, much like he did on the bridge all the years ago. 

MJ nods, chuckling. “Something old.”

He hums in acknowledgement, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I’m glad you still like it.” He pulls back slightly. “And the something new? Will I get to see that on tonight?”

Her head tilts and she takes a small corner of her lip between her teeth. “Maybe.”

“Can’t wait.”

Soon, the last cadence of the song fades out, and the familiar base-line of  _ My Girl  _ by the Temptations comes on. 

They sway together a little longer, before Peter continues. “Something borrowed?” He asks, realizing she’d never told him. 

“May’s veil,” she answers simply with a grin. Though it’s been put away again for the reception, MJ gestures to where it would have sat on her head. 

Peter’s head jerks back a fraction. It had looked familiar. “Oh, God, _ how _ did I not know that?”

“I won’t tell May, I promise,” she teases. “She’ll never know you didn’t know what her own veil looked like.”

“Okay, okay, come on.” He shakes his head in good-humor, growing quiet for a moment. It’s when he doesn’t speak for even longer that MJ grows concerned. 

“Pete?” 

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers truthfully, but she can hear the emotion in his tone. Another beat passes between them before he elaborates any further. “I’m just really happy that you got to… that you got to use that, you know?” 

Somehow, she pulls him even closer, into a comforting squeeze. “I know.” 

Silence falls over them again as they sway back and forth, not really dancing anymore, though still held in a close, loving embrace. 

Suddenly, MJ pulls back slightly, to Peter’s utter confusion, taking his hand in hers and pulling him away from the dance floor and into one of the hallways.

“Where are we going?” He asks through a curious laugh. “What’s--”

“I need to show you something,” she says over her shoulder, before tightening her grip on his hand. 

Without any question or hesitation, he happily follows her, the anticipation of what exactly she could be wanting to show him so badly that they needed to sneak away from prying eyes almost too much. They weave through friends and family, dodging questions with relative success as they reach the ends of the reception crowd. 

Finally, they reach one of the welcome areas, MJ sits on one of the chaises, practically yanking her new husband down to sit with her. 

She reaches down, pulling up the skirt of her dress to show a comfy pair of her black converse--a sight Peter’s not all that surprised to see, yet he still has to chuckle. Mostly in confusion still. “MJ, what--?”

She takes one of her shoes off, showing her very own pair of limited edition, Spider-Man socks. 

Now  _ that  _ comes as a surprise. He huffs out another laugh, his brow crinkling as he looks between her sock-clad foot and her mischievous eyes. “Again… MJ, what?”

She leans in to kiss that bewildered expression off his face, only being the slightest bit successful. Her hand remains in his, her smile growing, eyes gleaming with pride and delight as she answers with a nonchalant shrug.

“Something blue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and leaving kudos!! This story was so fun and soft and fluffy and I am so glad to have shared it with you all!!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @spiderman-homecomeme and twitter @smhomecomeme <3

**Author's Note:**

> Eeeeeeee I'm so excited about this guys! I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought! As always, comments and kudos are very, very appreciated. <3
> 
> find me on tumblr @spiderman-homecomeme and on twitter @smhomecomeme


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